


Enough

by Katinka01



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, But I'm pretty sure most people saw it before, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Missing Scene, Tumblr Prompt, bencutio - Freeform, which I cant't find anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katinka01/pseuds/Katinka01
Summary: “Oh, Benvolio. You were the only man in all of Verona without blood on their hands.” With a last bit of effort that even Mercutio didn’t know he possessed, he took one of Benvolio’s hands into his own. “And now, even your hands are dirty. I’m just sorry...”Faltering for a second, Mercutio brought the hand to his lips and bestowing a gentle kiss upon the stained fingers. “I’m just sorry that it is my blood.”





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! First fic for the Romeo&Juliet fandom. Of course, I gotta start with angst. I'm so sorry(I'm not).  
> I saw a prompt for how while Mercutio is dying, he says to Benvolio: "You were the only man in all of Verona without blood on their hand. Now your hand is dirty too. I'm just sorry that it is my blood." And I just had to write something for it.  
> It is un-betaed (is that how you say that?). Be kind.  
> Enjoy!

Mercutio had an arm around Benvolio’s shoulders as the latter helped him to his feet and away from the crowd into a house.

He gave a thankful nod to their host as they passed him, and the man led them into a room and to a bed. Mercutio let out a grunt as he was laid down, even the slightest movement sending agony through his entire body. Through the pain, he registered Benvolio sending their host to fetch some water and a clean cloth. The good man just gave him a long look and left to get the supplies. Benvolio didn’t spare him another glance, immediately turning back to Mercutio, hands pressing onto the wound. As if that would do any good.

“Benvolio...” Mercutio mumbled. The man did not seem to acknowledge him, other than pressing slightly harder down onto the injury. Mercutio winced. He honestly didn’t expect that he would end up like this. He often fought with Tybalt, but he has never gotten hurt, other than a few scratches, of course. He and that rat-catcher never meant to kill the other. Would have been a great loss of a good rival. It was all Romeo’s fault. Good, brave, foolish Romeo. Whatever gave him the idea that it would be a good idea to get between them?

Mercutio barely noticed the shaking of Benvolio’s shoulders. Kind, kind Benvolio. Already mourning, even though he wasn’t yet dead. If he had the strength he would have comforted him. Alas, he did not. Instead, Mercutio tried to catch his eyes, to convey some sort of apology. Benvolio didn’t look at him. Why wouldn’t he look at him? What was he staring at? Mercutio followed Benvolio’s gaze to the wound. More specifically, to Benvolio’s hand. Covered in Mercutio’s blood. The usually pale hands were now painted deep red, trembling slightly as Benvolio tried to stop the flow of blood. A futile attempt, really. But there was something about the sight, something unnerving, something that made Mercutio want to throw up, to turn away, to run from the sight. Benvolio’s hands never should have looked like that. He remembered one summer night some years ago, when yet again there was a fight, and blood dirtied Verona’s streets and all men’s hands. All but one.

“Benvolio,” Mercutio started again, his voice slightly stronger than last time, though his breathing grew more labored. Benvolio stiffened but did not raise his head. “Oh, Benvolio. You were the only man in all of Verona without blood on their hands.” With a last bit of effort that even Mercutio didn’t know he possessed, he took one of Benvolio’s hands into his own. “And now, even your hands are dirty. I’m just sorry...”Faltering for a second, Mercutio brought the hand to his lips and bestowing a gentle kiss upon the stained fingers. “I’m just sorry that it is my blood.”

Benvolio finally looked up. His eyes were wide with shock, clearly not expecting the words. Wide and glassy with unshed tears. That was more painful to Mercutio than any injury. Benvolio just stared at him, wordlessly, silent as the grave that awaited Mercutio, for a good minute. Then he shook himself, took his hand back and pressed it against the wound with renewed determination.

“Never mind that now,” he said. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed together tightly into a thin line, and Mercutio couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged on the corner of his lips or the soft chuckle that escaped him without permission. They both disappeared when he saw a tear roll down Benvolio’s cheek. Now it was Mercutio who stared in shock.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Benvolio said, his voice sharp. “Don’t you dare laugh when you are hurt and bleeding onto my hands. Don’t you dare laugh when I am so close to losing you.”

Mercutio closed his eyes. Not in shame, not exactly, he wasn’t ashamed of the fight, of protecting his friend’s honor. But it was a shame that he had to leave so early.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Benvolio, sweet, kind Benvolio crying, crying for him, is a crime against God.

“As you should be,” came the answer, this time in a soft and somewhat shaky voice. Mercutio chuckled again. Benvolio pressed his hands harder against the wound in irritation but froze when Mercutio barely flinched.

“It’s futile, my dear Benvolio. I can hardly feel it anymore,” Mercutio said. “It would seem my time among you is over. What a shame,” he laughed.

“Please, don’t.” The words escaped Benvolio before he could stop them. He finally took his hands off the injury only to cup Mercutio’s face. His hands were still wet with blood, but his touch was tender. Mercutio’s smile softened. “Please, do not talk like that. I can’t bear it.”

“I’m sorry,” Mercutio whispered and turned his head to the side, just a bit, just enough to press his lips to Benvolio’s palm. He could taste his own blood, but it was worth it. He would kiss it all away if it meant Benvolio could stay untainted.

Benvolio let out a soft whimper and retracted his hand only to replace it with his lips. The kiss was slow, gentle, and wet with tears. Perfectly imperfect. Mercutio tried to kiss back with what little strength he had left. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to say what he wanted. He sighed into the kiss and when Benvolio shakily pulled away, he smiled.

Most stories don’t have a happy ending. Some would say this one didn’t either. But as Mercutio gazed into Benvolio’s warm and sad eyes, he couldn’t help but think that was okay. The beginning was nice. The middle was great. And even the end held some bitter sweetness. It was enough. Some endings didn’t need to be happy. After all, where is the tragedy if you have nothing to lose? So he looked, smiled and as the darkness swallowed his once bright mind he thought:

‘This is enough.’


End file.
